Me and the ex get together alone for the first time and went to go get a six-pack one night. We started drinking and smoking some chronic on the way home, got to his house, (we were neighbors), he offered me a xanax bar or some equivalent, and needless to say, i was copping a prettty nice buzz.
One thing leads to another and we start fucking on the tailgate of his truck, he decides to grab the camera out of the inside of the truck, so we move the party in there, getting so buckwild that the truck really was too small for what we were trying to do.
We think it over for a second, and decide to take it to the camper (the kind that fits on/in a truck bed) since both of our dads were home and about ready to wake up and go to work.
So, we're in the bed part of the camper just going to town and apparently he heard a noise or saw something give (my eyes were losed) and was like, "get out now", so I literally scrambled naked and jump out of the falling camper, apparently knocking over some paint cans on the way out.
We finish up in the yard, in open daylight, probably being seen by our neighbors. We decide to go get some breakfast before deciding to go our seperate ways, getting paint all over the leather interior of the truck in the meantime..
I go home, pass the fuck out for a few hours, and wake up seriously confused as to what happened the night before, throwing my guts up for hours on end because apparently, I got so fucked up that I forgot I had a light tampon in for the last day of my period and ended up with toxic shock syndrome from him pounding the tampon up my vagina so hard. *deep breath
Although I still only remember bits and pieces, the paint on my new levis and favorite button down was a really good visual reminder, and I got details from him the day after I woke up throwing my guts up.
To this day, I'm sure he still sometimes thinks of me as the 'painted bandit'
The end.
